My beloved and I are taking an angel-less trip to Chicago this weekend.  I'm doing the guest book for my friend S.'s wedding.  The little angel will be hanging with Grandma and Grandpa up in Iowa.

As I was packing her little wheelie, I was thinking how much easier it is to pack her now than when she was a few months old.  She doesn't throw up every five seconds, so she needs fewer clothes and no daily bibs, she eats normal food (although I still packed a wide variety of angel-approved foods, just in case she went on strike), she drinks milk instead of Liquid Sleep and uses cups instead of bottles.  She does still use those silly diaper things, but I am rather glad about that, because I am not looking forward to potty training AT ALL.  She is going to pee on her car seat, I just know it.

Of course, despite the fact that I'm as excited as a twelve-year-old on the eve of sleepaway camp to go to Chicago and attend a guilt-free wedding with old friends, of course I still have that sad tightening in my chest that happens every time the little angel and I will be separated for more than twelve hours.  I start thinking about how she shows me her belly, and when she says "Mama, Mama," and holds up her fat little hands. Even the stupid scary kitty tiara shoes will probably make me cry tomorrow on the way to the airport.  I remind myself that Grandma and Grandpa would throw themselves in front of a train before they let anything bad happen to the angel, that they will be delerious with joy to get her away from us and that they have all sorts of toys she has never seen.  I remind myself it is good for her to spend time with people other than me. 

And then I laugh and cry thinking about the weekend and how much I will love it/hate it, and I remind myself that to be a mother is to be of two minds on just about any subject at all.